


My Halfpipe Heart

by exbex



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cousins, Figure Skater Eric "Bitty" Bittle, Getting Together, M/M, Snowboarding, Winter Olympics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-23 17:51:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18554788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exbex/pseuds/exbex
Summary: It’s true. Kent is not above having the same fantasy over and over again, the one where Alexei Mashkov tosses Kent over his shoulder instead of his snowboard, and carries Kent off to some kind of cozy cabin to ravish him. Or make him cocoa. Or both, one right after the other.





	My Halfpipe Heart

**Author's Note:**

> This is inspired directly by, and dedicated to, the Parskov channel on the Parse Posi discord.
> 
> I've taken several liberties with sports stuff, namely schedules and how college sports might work. 
> 
> Slightly nonlinear storytelling.

“You know he’s here, right?”

Kent looks up from his phone to glare over at his smirking cousin, the one who is currently contorting his body in a deceptively effortless stretch.

“Have I told you how glad I am that the roommate assignments were all jacked up and we ended up together? Because if not, it’s because I’m not. Glad that is.”

Eric grins and returns his body to a more natural position. “You love it.”

Kent, having no comeback due to the veracity of Eric’s statement, returns his attention to the picture of the man who is the other reason for his inability to string words together.

“I’m just sayin’, he’s here, you’re here, he’s a hockey fan, he’s cute, you’re not repulsive. Carpe diem.”

Kent sighs and tosses his phone down. “Less than ten percent Eric. Less than ten percent. Also, he’s Russian.”

“American citizen,” Eric corrects. “The two of you are competing for the same country. Honestly, it’s a Hallmark movie in the making. And you,” and at this Eric wags a disapproving finger, “ought to know better than to stereotype.”

“You’re just proving my point,” Kent retorts. “Hallmark movies are fantasies. Romance porn.”

Eric cocks his head towards Kent’s phone. “You read the same articles over and over again. You’re not above the fantasy.”

It’s true. Kent is not above having the same fantasy over and over again, the one where Alexei Mashkov tosses Kent over his shoulder instead of his snowboard, and carries Kent off to some kind of cozy cabin to ravish him. Or make him cocoa. Or both, one right after the other.

“Why don’t you go after him yourself if you think he’s such a catch?”

“I kind of know him already, remember? Because of his mom? There was no spark. But I definitely got a vibe that he might not be totally straight, you know?”

Kent rolls his eyes, then scowls as he turns to his side. “Why don’t you leave me alone and concentrate on trying to get within a hundred feet of the medal stand?” He regrets saying it as soon as it leaves his mouth.

Eric just clicks his tongue and gets to his feet. “You know I’m just trying to put in a good showing before retirement.” His smile turns mischievous. “Which is something that you’ll only be able to hope to achieve after you drop to the bottom of the standings.”

They’re on even ground again. Kent lobs a pillow at him. “I’ll have my millions to comfort me.”

“Your millions to comfort you and posters of Alexei Mashkov to jerk off to,” Eric cackles. “Truly an optimistic vision of the future.”

“I’ll also have you to bring me pie so I can be fat, rich, and happy in a constant post-orgasm haze.” Kent sits up and lobs another pillow at him.

“That you will Honey. That you will.” Eric leaves the pillows on the floor and sits down beside Kent on the sofa, laying his head on Kent’s shoulder.

“I’m actually glad we get to room together,” Kent says after a minute.

“I know.”

**

Kent spots Jack at the men’s figure skating podium training. 

“Hey Zimms, they let you off the charging block long enough to check out the other events?”

Jack just returns the greeting with a deadpan stare before cracking a small smile. “The Canadian team doesn’t have to practice quite as desperately as the U.S. team.”

Kent can’t help but break into a full-blown grin. “Wow Zimms, they installed a sense of humor into your programming. It sounds like it has a couple of bugs in it, but not bad, not bad.”

Jack rolls his eyes and turns his attention back to the training, which is about as much greeting as Kent figures he’ll get. He settles in next to Jack anyway, knocking his foot against Jack’s, and Jack taps his foot back.

“Kenny, is that your cousin out there?” Jack’s eyes are a little wide as Eric skates into sight.

“Yeah, he’s doing singles now. At least for one or two more competitions, anyway.”

“He, euh, he looks…different now. I mean, he looks good. I mean, it looks like he can hold his own. Not that I’m a figure skating expert or anything.”

Kent grins. This is entirely too wonderful of an opportunity. “It’s alright Zimms, you can say it. He’s turned into a total hottie. All grown up now, you know.”

Jack scowls. “I was not implying…”

“You didn’t have to; I know that look on your face.”

Jack’s face flushes. “He’s a great skater. I’m glad to see he stuck with it.”

“You’re glad to see the glow-up. I’d say he’s pretty age-appropriate. And he’s single right now.”

Jack’s expression turns to panic, and Kent takes pity. “Don’t worry Zimms, I won’t tell Eric you have the hots for him, at least on the condition that you’ll try to talk to him, once you go through your next upgrade. You know, the one that makes you not so awkward around hot guys.”

Jack’s scowl returns, but there’s no real heat behind it. “Clearly you two only share a few of the same genes.”

Kent doesn’t stop laughing for fifteen minutes.

Kent is still smirking as he leaves for his own practice, but his smirk fades as he catches sight of the man Eric has dubbed The Obscure Object of Kent’s Intense Gay Longing. (Kent had sniped back that the adjectives preceding Longing were superfluous, which had led to Eric chirping him with a surprise that Kent knew the word superfluous, which led to a wrestling match that was cut short by the potential embarrassment of not being able to participate in their events because of injuries sustained from familial squabbling).

Alexei Mashkov is knitting, his fingers moving with ease as he manipulates the needles in what looks to Kent to be some kind of complicated pattern, all while he watches the skating with interest, glancing between his knitting and the routines.

“Kent, you okay?”

Jack frowns as Kent roughly links their arms and drags him away from the world’s most beautiful and interesting man. “Kent, what’s going on?”

“Have to avoid Mashkov,” Kent murmurs. 

“Why?”

“Because I will burst into flames if he looks at me.”

Jack eyes are wide in confusion until a look of recognition dawns. “Oh yeah, he’s your type, eh?” He’s smirking now, and Kent is struck with a sense of déjà vu, because it’s the same look Jack has when he’s gotten a puck past Kent.

“Fuck you,” Kent deadpans.

“I’m just saying, you’re very predictable.”

“Fuck you again,” Kent replies.

“Hey, I could introduce you two, if you want.”

“Oh yeah Zimms, that’s cool. I’m sure you would enjoy every minute of that.”

“Well, I don’t really get some of his more questionable tastes, but—”

“Wait.” Kent stops short, nearly causing both of them to trip. “Do you know something I don’t know? Something that Eric doesn’t even know?”

“Well, I’m not going to tell you exactly why I know, but yeah, I know.”

Kent’s mouth goes suddenly dry. Impossible is easier to deal with than improbable, what with the lack of potential heartbreak.

His face must betray him, because Jack suddenly changes the subject. “Are you headed to lunch? I’m meeting with Marty and Jeff. I think Jeff is going through Parse-withdrawal. He didn’t say as much, but he’s told the story about when you met Britney Spears three times now…”

Kent takes the opening he’s offered and schools his face into a cocky smirk. “Tell him I’ll see him when we kick your guys’ collective asses.”

**

Kent is high on a cocktail of caffeine, sugar, and smugness, as he has successfully managed to connive and bribe his way into the NBC Sports compound to gain access to the secret Starbucks. His infiltration has gone unnoticed, but it’s not long before he nearly collides with a massive, cable knit wall.

“Kent!” Eric’s arm is linked with the wall’s. He manages to both steady Kent and rescue the drink that Kent had snagged for him with his free arm. “This is Alexei. We were just talking about you.” Eric takes a convenient sip of his coffee, but his huge eyes betray his glee at catching Kent unawares.

Kent takes a sip of his own coffee to buy himself some time, shelves his plans for revenge, and manages to smile even though every single aerial skier present at the Olympics has apparently shrunk and taken up practice space in Kent’s stomach. “Hey,” he croaks out as he reaches out a now-free hand.

“Kent Parson,” Mashkov takes the proffered hand in a grip that could be crushing, but is just warm and firm instead. “Is honor to meet.” 

“Oh yeah,” Kent manages to reply in something more than a squeak. “You’re an Aces fan?”

“No,” Mashkov’s grin is easy. “But you make team look good.”

Kent immediately regrets the extra espresso shot as his heart takes off. “Well, that’s interesting coming from a snowboarder. I mean, the half-pipe. Uh, is difficult. But not your’s. I mean, it looks easy, when you do it. Not easy. But like, you’re easy to watch. I mean, you make snowboarding look good. Not that snowboarding isn’t a good sport.”

“You watch my event?” Mashkov’s grin somehow gets bigger. “Stanley Cup champ cheer me on?”

Kent takes another sip of his coffee to save himself from gaping. “Yeah, of course” he gasps out. 

“Good. I see you both later. Will make sure of it.”

**

“Are you trying to kill me?”

Eric doesn’t even try to make his innocent look sincere. “Alexei wanted to meet you. He was very excited about it. And obviously, he’s interested. Really, I’m doing you a favor.” 

Kent rolls his eyes. “He is not interested. You are totally fishing here.”

It’s Eric’s turn to roll his eyes. “Unbelievable Kent Virgil. He was completely flirting with you. ‘You make team look good.’ If that’s not a come on-“

“He was just being friendly. Besides, there’s the whole language barrier thing.”

“Kent, he’s spent half his life in the United States. You’re just reaching.”

Kent pries the lid off his cup and stares down into the dregs of his now-cold coffee. “You never told me what school you decided on.”

Eric mercifully allows for the subject change. “Samwell.”

The one-word response is atypical of Kent’s loquacious cousin. Kent looks up at Eric’s lost-in-thought expression. “Good school. Kind of pricey.” Kent hesitates. “You know, if   
you’re worried about costs…”

“Oh no,” Eric waves his hand. “We’ve got that covered. My SAT scores were really good, my grades were actually good enough that we can swing it. It’s just that, well, I was thinking about trying to be a walk on for the hockey team. Well, more than thinking about it, I’ve talked to Samwell’s coaches.” He bites his lower lip, a little too hard to cover up the fact that it looks like he feels like he’s revealed some kind of heavy secret.

“That’s awesome Eric.”

“Do you really think so? I mean, I don’t know if I really even have a chance.”

“Yeah, you might have to redshirt your first year, but I think you have a pretty good chance. Hey, we’ll work on stick handling and stuff this summer.”

Eric’s shoulders relax and his eyes light up a bit. “Really? That would be great. Hey, we can get started shortly after Figure Skating Worlds because, you know, you’ll already be out of the playoffs…”

“Har har you little shit. Oh hey, you know Samwell is less than an hour from Providence.”

Eric furrows his eyebrows. “Yeah, but it’s closer to Boston…”

“Yeah, I mean, you could come to a few more games. We could see each other when I’m on roadies to those cities.”

**

Kent is a born and bred New Yorker, which is why he got on his knees and thanked every potential deity in anthropological history that he was drafted by Las Vegas. In Kent’s opinion, cold should be part of a climate-controlled buildings and sunglasses should be worn on the beach with white sands, not with fourteen layers while standing in the white snow.

But Alexei Mashkov looks like a god when he competes, so Kent ventures outdoors even though almost every Olympic event looks better on TV.

“Came outside to do your thirst-watching huh?” Eric looks unfairly stylish in his seventeen layers.

“Came outside to see what a real sport looks like, huh?”

“Is that what you’re calling you mooning over Alexei? A real sport?”

“Who are you dressed up all cute for?”

“No one. It’s just impossible for me not to look cute.”

As if they’re in one of those Hallmark movies, Jack shows up. “Hey Parse. Hey, uh, Bittle.”

“Well hello Mr. Zimmermann. What brings you to the snowboarding competition?”

“Wanted to see some uh, snowboarding.” Jack is actually blushing, though Kent supposes it could be blamed on the cold air. He wants so badly to chirp the hell out of Jack, but decides that it might be a level of hypocrisy that is too high even for him. 

**

Alexei finishes his Olympic experience with a silver and a bronze. Kent tweets an article about him and adds “@AlexeiMashkovofficial makes it look easy. And good.” He agonizes over potentially adding a winking emoji before ultimately deciding against it. Eric retweets it, which is unsurprising. Jack retweets it, which is slightly surprising. Alexei retweets it, and adds an “@KVP90 makes it beautiful” with a heart eyes emoji, which makes Kent spill his protein shake all over his front, and sends the Aces group chat, which had gone radio silent at the start of the Games, into a overdrive.

Scraps: Cap, are you wheeling Mashkov?

Swoops: You have to have game to wheel, Scraps.

Carly: Parse couldn’t even wheel even if he had training wheels.

Swoops: Your game is about as good as your chirps Carly.

Kent is saved from typing out something desperate and weak like “wheeled your mom” by the onslaught of chirps directed toward Carl. He makes a note to send Swoops a fruit basket and then ignores Twitter for the rest of the Games.

**

As far as injuries go, it’s not as bad as it could be. Still, the reality of missing a chunk of the regular season, not to mention having to leave the final game of the US Men’s Hockey medal run, stings.

Kent schools his face so that he’s wearing an easy grin instead of a scowl before he opens the door to polite knocking.

“Kent Parson, I come to make life easier.” Alexei Mashkov is grinning and holding up a cable-knit sweater. “I make for myself, but think you need more. Lots of room, easy to put on and take off while shoulder heals.”

Kent stares at the soft blue sweater. “Uh…oh shit, do you want to come in?” He backs away from the entryway to allow Mashkov entrance. “You uh, you made that yourself?”

“Yes. I make many. My Babushka, she teach me.”

Kent reaches for the sweater with his good arm and runs his thumb over the material. “It’s really nice. Great, actually. Looks warm. Nice color.” He barely keeps himself from grimacing at his own awkwardness.

“You’ll wear it?” Mashkov’s grin reaches all the way to his eyes. Kent thinks about how he’s going to get wrinkles around his eyes when he’s older and has to suppress a sigh.

“Definitely.” He feels his face flush.

“Alright Kent Parson. I see you soon. Hate to rush off, but duty calls.”

“Hey wait,” Kent’s heart is fluttering. “Let’s exchange phone numbers.” He maintains eye contact with Alexei, because it doesn’t have to mean anything.

Alexei’s smile isn’t as wide, but it’s still blinding as he holds out an unlocked phone for Kent.

**

There’s radio silence for the next few weeks, and it’s not a big deal, what with the physical therapy and still trying to captain his team into the playoffs. Kent is antsy enough without analyzing possible text messages from his crush.

He finally feels like he has his feet back under him when he’s able to leave his no-contact jersey behind and get back into the game, only to feel completely thrown into the boards with a message from Alexei.

_Good to see you back on the ice ))))))))_

_Thanks man. Good to be back on the ice._

Kent switches to texting Eric. _What do you think it means when a guy sends you side hugs over texts??_

_???????_

_Alexei sent me a message with these )))))))_

Eric sends a long string of emojis that Kent doesn’t even try to decipher.

_Words. Please._

_Those are smiles. It’s a Russian thing._

_Oh._

_What is it Kent?_

_Alexei smiles at everyone._

_Yeah, but I don’t think he texts smileys to every NHL player who comes back from an injury._

**  
“Give him your address.”

Kent raises an eyebrow in an exaggerated manner so that it’ll be impossible for Eric to miss his confusion. “What?”

“Alexei. Give him your address. Your mailing address, specifically.”

“What would he want my address for? Why would he want to send me anything?”

“Because he loves to play the long game. Obviously.”

“And which game would that be?” Kent stretches out on the sofa and peers up at Eric’s face on his phone screen. He could swear that Eric’s eyeroll creates a sort of staticy noise.

“The one where you two flirt shamelessly over Twitter, and then he starts sending you things, like more of his knitting, for instance, so that you can tweet pictures of yourself wearing the knitted goods, so that the two of you can continue this game.”

Kent settles deeper into the couch cushions. “I don’t know if it’s a good idea to let it go any further than where we are right now.”

Eric tilts his head to the side and narrows his eyes. “Are you letting go of something that you want because you truly feel that it’s run its course, or are you letting go of something that you want because you’re afraid to reach for it?”

The edge of the pillow that’s pressing into Kent’s low back is suddenly an irritation. Kent scowls. “You are not actually using what I used to say to you every time you thought about quitting figure skating for this…thing that I have going on with Alexei.”

“Pretty sure I just did, yeah.” Eric cuts off the call abruptly.

“What a little shit,” Kent mutters. He’s laying too still, all of a sudden. He needs to get up, go work out, push himself to the brink so that he doesn’t have to think about his feelings. It’ll work; it always does.

It doesn’t work. Kent’s legs feel like jelly but his mind is still racing along like a gazelle outrunning a lion.

Kent scrolls through his phone and considers his options, dismissing every single one because they will all repeat some version of Eric’s words to him. He finally presses call when he gets to the end of his contacts list.

“Zimms, have you ever been in a real, adult relationship?”

“Hello Kent. How’s the off-season going?”

“You can tell how the off-season is going from the question that I just asked.”

The pause is long enough that Kent checks to see if the call has been dropped. But Jack is responding with a somewhat clipped tone. “Eric is 22 years old Kent, I don’t think he needs you giving guys the shovel talk.”

Kent frowns. “What the hell does Eric have to do with anything?” Realization dawns and he grins. “Zimms, you dog…”

“Euh, we’re just texting right now. And twitting sometimes. We had a skype call though the other day…”

Kent groans. Of course he called Zimms for advice because of course he’s the only other one their age who hasn’t figured his shit out enough to actually decide how to pursue a potential love interest.

**

In the end, Alexei straight up asks him for his address, to send gifts to Kit Purrson. Kent is only slightly charmed that Alexei wants to spoil his cat. The first package that he sends is just toys for Kit, but the second is for Kent. The sweater that he pulls from it is soft cashmere, almost too pretty, but elegant. The silver yarn, he notices, will bring out his eyes. 

There’s a note from Alexei that says “Colors of champion.” Kent swoons, then looks up the what the word swoon means, then amends his assessment to stares at a sweater with a stupid look on his face. He snaps a picture of himself wearing the sweater and adds a message before he sends the text: Thought you weren’t an Aces fan? 😉

Alexei’s reply comes with those eyeless smileys. _Doesn’t change facts._

“Is he flirting or chirping? Or somewhere in between?” Kit ignores his question. Kent doesn’t know who else to ask, or rather, isn’t sure he’d be satisfied with any of the potential answers.

 

Spring turns into summer. Alexei goes to Russia. Kent goes to New York. Before he knows it he’s helping Eric move into a highly questionable house in Samwell, Massachusetts.

“Sure you don’t want to move into a residence hall? Get that full college student experience? Live in a brick building that could probably withstand a tornado?”

Eric straightens from setting a box on the floor, wiping a hand across his brow. “I’m a 22-year-old freshman, Kent. Besides, the rent here costs less than the board on campus.”

“If the former comment is supposed to refer to your desire to be a grown-up and get your studying done, I need you to take a hard look at this place. It screams ‘frat house.’ And I do mean scream. As in, a scream of terror at what can happen to your work ethic and consequently, your grades. And there’s definitely a naked guy right behind you.”

“Hey,” the naked guy extends a hand as Eric turns. “I’m Shitty. You must be Eric. Are you motherfucking down to motherfucking clown?”

“Pleased to meet you,” Eric grins. “And yes, I think I just might be.”

“Holy shit,” a booming voice sounds from behind Shitty. “Eric Bittle and Kent Parson are both standing in the Haus.”

Two hours later Kent is simultaneously more and less worried about his cousin’s upcoming semester as he slides into the passenger seat of Eric’s car. 

“Stop worrying so much,” Eric says, as if he can read Kent’s mind. Kent muses that he probably can. “I managed to juggle school and figure skating both, I think I can handle college.”

“Figure skating is a disciplined sport. You just moved into a goddamn frat house with a bunch of hockey players.”

Eric shoots him an amused smile as he starts the car and clicks his seatbelt into place. “You never have hung out much with figure skaters, have you? And these are NCAA hockey players. They have to have some discipline to stay on the team.”

“I bet they also have to go through some kind of gross hazing rituals.”

Eric sighs. “Again, you really haven’t hung out with figure skaters much. Do you really think I can’t take care of myself?”

“I know you can take care of yourself, but I have a birthright to be protective.”

That gets a soft smile. “Aren’t you sweet. But you don’t need to wear yourself out over me.”

“Whatever. Where are we off to anyway?”

“Providence.”

“Providence? Why are we going all the way to Providence for dinner? Oh my god.” Kent’s eyes widen. “You’re wheeling Zimms.”

Eric shrugs as he checks his mirrors and eases the car onto the street. “In a manner of speaking.”

Kent is distracted enough by the Zimms/Eric developments that he makes the rookie mistake of forgetting how conniving his cousin is. Which is why he nearly trips when he walks into a restaurant to discover Jack already seated at a table with Alexei.

“Eric,” Kent hisses. “You are a conniving little shit.”

“It’s my birthright,” Eric whispers back. “Also, carpe diem. Also, you’re welcome.”

Dinner is easy, with the exception of the moments where Kent’s stomach kind of swoops because Alexei smiles and gives Kent lingering looks with his warm brown eyes. Which basically happens every three minutes or so.

Waterfire is still going on, so they take a walk after dinner. Jack and Eric are a few paces ahead of Kent and Alexei. It’s all terribly soft and romantic and Kent wonders if he could just reach over and take Alexei’s hand like it’s nothing.

Because he’s Kent Parson, he goes for awkward conversation instead. “I guess you’re a Falconer’s fan, huh?”

“Good team, but I’m more an Aces fan.”

Kent raises an eyebrow and shoots Alexei a look. “Is that why you chirp me on Twitter every chance you get?”

Alexei grins. “Of course. But Vegas is close to my training center.”

“So you have the whole geographical loyalty going on.”

Alexei shrugs. “Or I like to watch you play beautiful hockey.”

Kent feels a flush creeping up his neck and wishes it were darker outside. Fuck it, he thinks. This has gone on long enough. He reaches for Alexei’s hand at the same time that 

Alexei is reaching for his, and their fingers twine together without so much as a hitch. Kent steals a glance at Alexei, who is grinning as if he’s just won gold in all five events.

They’re trailing further behind Eric and Jack, walking along in companionable silence, before Kent finds his voice again. “Are we idiots? I mean, this took a really long time.”

Alexei shrugs. “You can’t blame me, struggling to ask out Kent Parson, most beautiful man in hockey.”

Kent laughs. “You’re a damn liar. That was way too smooth to come from someone who’s intimidated. Also, have you seen yourself?”

Alexei actually ducks his head and smiles shyly, rubbing his free hand over the back of his neck. Kent just accepts that he’s being wooed by a man who’s a bit of an evil genius.

**

“Do you have a room somewhere, or are you going to bunk with Alexei tonight?”

Kent tilts his head and examines Jack, wondering if it’s actually possible that he’s completely unaware of the fact that his face betrays every single emotion he feels.

“You know, I did manage to forget to book a room, even though all of the 14,000 colleges and universities in the area are starting their semesters this week. But you know, Alexei   
and I started dating like, forty-eight seconds ago, so I’d be a little more comfortable bunking with Eric.”

Jack’s stuttering attempts to apologize for making assumptions are hilarious, but not as hilarious as the fact that Alexei apparently eavesdropped. “Hey Zimmboni, we’ll bunk together; just like old times.”

Kent is about to ask what exactly “old times” means, when Eric emerges from the bathroom. “Alright, stop torturing Jack. Kent and I can go back to Samwell if we need to.”

“Just giving Jack a hard time Eric; I’m not a cock-blocker.” Kent curses his loose tongue. “I mean, uh, it’s whatever. Or, er, whatever Alexei wants to do.”

Alexei’s grin is slow and devilish, enough to make Kent weak in the knees. But Alexei shifts at the last minute and shrugs. “Whatever means I get to have Eric’s world-famous   
pancakes.”

“For you Honey, I will make as many pancakes as you can eat. I will not, however, get up early enough to do the shopping.”

Jack grins and stretches. “I’ll be up early, as in, before noon, so I can head to the store. But you and Kent should really stay; it’s getting a little late and I know you need to get to   
bed if you have any hope of waking up before mid-afternoon Bittle.”

“Har har Mr. Zimmermann.”

**

“I can’t believe you’re dating Zimms.” Kent nudges Eric’s shoulder with his own, somewhat awkwardly, as Jack’s guest room boasts a king size bed.

“I can’t believe you just started dating Alexei tonight.” Eric’s voice is sleep heavy and slow, a hint of his southern drawl coming through.

_I can’t believe you’re all grown up._ Kent almost says it, but lets it die before it gets to his lips. He can feel his heart-rate quicken, realizes it’s because his mind is going down the path of thinking about the future. He breathes slowly in and out, lets his thoughts settle on tomorrow morning, thinks about sitting down to breakfast with Eric, Jack, and Alexei, and drifts off to sleep.


End file.
